


even if i die, it's you

by choncena



Series: the stevetony mixtape [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe - High School, Domestic Avengers, Fix-It of Sorts, Kinda, Kinda?, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Team as Family, Temporary Character Death, this became more AU than i originally planned but its okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 20:00:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19708390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choncena/pseuds/choncena
Summary: Steve holds the gauntlet instead of Tony, but death is not his last stop.





	even if i die, it's you

**Author's Note:**

> i got inspired by a kpop song even tho i dont listen to kpop (and i added it to the stevetony playlist hence, part of the series) but i heard the piano cover of it and looked up the english translation and it just made sense in my head for me to write this! quick and short, but i needed to get it out. 
> 
> [here's the actual song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mJEHTdQoSsA) but [here's the piano cover that inspired me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WMFFXZ6fcyg)

They stand together, one last time, in the rubble that was once their home but now crumbled in pieces like the empire they had left behind so long ago.

“And how do you expect to defeat me?” Thanos says, the gauntlet broken on his arm and the stones glowing brighter than they ever have before. 

_Save them_ , they cry, _save them all_.

Tony looks at Steve and catches the hazy blue eyes now covered in soot and blood. 

Tony looks at him and sees an echo, sees the threads of a friendship tattered and broken from betrayal and lies; sees the regrets of unspoken conversations and missed opportunities. Tony looks at Steve and he sees a moment, that seems a whole lifetime ago now, between them back in Sokovia.

Ultron had asked them the same thing and Tony still remembers how it felt when Steve turned his soft eyes, full of fondness and something that can’t quite be uncovered, towards him. 

Tony sees the universe as it lays itself in front of his feet but he can’t tell Steve. He has to believe that he’ll have enough time to tell him after. 

He wants to tell him he sees the reality stone twisting his views just so all he sees is _SteveSteveSteve_ and he wants to tell him he sees the time stone giving them what they most wanted but will probably never get— more time.

Tony feels himself shutter as he flips up the faceplate to see Steve, no walls between them. 

He hasn’t seen that face look at him that way since Steve had said, “I will miss you, Tony.”

Tony thinks of that memory and holds it close to his heart.

“Like the old man said—”

Tony turns away and flips down the mask, forcing himself to remember the way Steve had looked at him with all the admiration and love in the world, like he was promising Tony something.

“Together.” 

—

Steve’s body is weighed down by the gauntlet, heavy like Mjolnir was in his hands just moments ago.

He barely registers the blowback of the stones before he realizes he’s cold, but unlike the ice that swallowed him nearly a century ago.

“Steve!”

He blinks blurry eyes at the figure coming towards him before he recognizes Tony, not in his armor but in a SHIELD getup.

“Wh’z a’mor,” he slurs, his tongue heavy as he can barely keep his head up.

“I’ll explain later, you idiot. Why did you do that?” Tony rushes, coming up to kneel beside him and bring his head onto his lap. 

Steve looks around him with what little movement his head can manage and he sees the others— the ones taken— reappear right in front of his eyes: Bucky, Sam, T’Challa, Peter, and the other ones he doesn’t recognize but the relief in Tony’s eyes say enough.

“Cou’nt let y’do’t,” he mumbles. Steve smiles up at Tony softly but he can barely keep his eyes open anymore. “Di’t w’rk?”

The pain registers and his hands burn, smoke rising up from once scar-unriddled skin. Tony laughs but it’s watery. 

“Yeah, yeah it did,” Tony chuckles, “You did it, Steve. Thanos is dead and you brought everyone back.” 

Steve hums and closes his eyes. “Di’ I ge’ y’back, too?”

A choked sob escapes Tony’s throat and he leans down to cradle Steve closer, pressing his lips against a bloody and sweaty temple. 

“You never had to, Steve. You never lost me.” 

Steve shakes his head, and with some struggle, brings his hand up to touch Tony’s face.

“I los’ you. I sti’ ha’so mu’ t’tell y’. Got t’tell y’ m’sorry.” Steve’s voice quiets, hand falling slowly but Tony grabs it and holds it against his cheek, turning his head to press a kiss against it. 

“I’ve forgiven you a long time ago, beloved. Don’t- don’t leave me, please. We’re not done here,” Tony pleads but all that escapes Steve is a heavy breath.

“Was I wor’t ‘t, T’ny?” Steve asks with one last whisper.

Steve remembers their lives, which seems like a whole eternity ago, back when there was still trust between them. When he closes his eyes, he sees the easy laughs shared between the team and the jokes, and that particular moment of grabbing that leather handle and pulling. He hadn’t managed it then.

Tony, on the same track, looks at the metal fitted over Steve’s hands— looks at what Mjolnir is now by his side.

Tony looks down at Steve and the peaceful look washed upon his face. His breaths are staggering in a decrescendo, but he blinks softly at Tony like he’s always done before everything crumbled between them. 

Tony leans down and closes his eyes, presses his forehead against Steve’s as the soldier breathes in Tony’s scent one last time.

“Come back to me and I’ll tell you,” the genius promises but the last whispers of love he shares is for a soul that is no longer there.

—

Nothing hurts and he’s floating.

Misplaced.

He sits up and looks around at his surroundings, all bright and white and muted yellows and tangerines and pinks. He almost thinks it might be heaven, but he’s long forgotten his own belief of it. He’s dead, that much he remembers, but he’s still in his post-serum body, albeit no longer in the suit he had died in but rather a plain white tee and a pair of light, breezy khakis. He’s also barefoot, and woke up in a pool of a few inches or so of water.

The water is reflective and gentle. Steve can’t see beyond the mist around him, but he doesn’t feel cautious, just curious. 

“Hello?” He calls out, voice echoing throughout the vast open space. He stands then, feet wading in the shallow water, though it feels as if there is none.

“Didn’t think you’d be next, if I’m being honest.”

Steve whirls around and his heart jumps in his chest. 

“Nat,” he mumbles, tears coming to his eyes as he meets her halfway in an embrace. 

They’re laughing through their sobs, hands clutching at each other, too afraid to let go. They’ve lost each other once, and Steve wasn’t going to let her go again because it had hurt coming back to everyone only to have one of _them_ missing.

“I wish we didn’t lose you,” Steve says into her hair. Natasha huffs and distances herself at arms length to lock her eyes on him.

“I had to do what I had to do, Rogers,” she replies, smiling, “You of all people should understand that.”

He smiles back at her. “Everyone’s okay. You saved us.”

“ _We_ saved us,” she emphasizes, poking her finger in his chest. She steps back, watches him look around in wonder and confusion before holding out a hand.

“Come on. This isn’t the end.”

Steve whirls back at her. “It isn’t?” 

She smiles softly at him and nods her head towards— well, wherever they’re going. 

“The universe is kinder than you think, Steve. I think we all deserve our second chances, don’t we?”

Her eyes glint as if she knows something he doesn’t just by looking at him. Her hand stays outstretched.

Steve takes her hand and breathes in twice— one for those warm eyes, and another for the hands that held his for the last time in a different life now— and walks into the mist.

—

The second time he opens his eyes, his ears are attacked by his alarm beeping incessantly at him while there is shouting downstairs.

“Get up, punk! We’re gonna be late for school!”

Steve shakes the grogginess away as the sound of feet stomping against the floor pass by his door. “Bucky?”

He analyzes his surroundings once again and takes in his own appearance: he’s shirtless with a pair of flannel pajama pants loose on his hips and one foot halfway through a striped fuzzy sock, the other foot open to the cold air of the AC. 

The room he’s in itself is quite large, with the king-sized bed he just got out of in the middle of the room flanked by two tables topped with lamps and various paraphernalia, including a smartphone that apparently belongs to him, charging right next to his pillows. The floor is scattered with clothes and books and papers and the walls are covered in posters and photographs, the desk in the corner housing a camera and pen holders and notebooks. There’s a full-sized mirror hanging off from the back of the door just asymmetrically parallel to his bed and he looks at himself and suddenly he’s hit with another set of memories, his eyes catching onto the small photographs jammed under the frames of the mirror.

He remembers being Steve Rogers, born in 1918 in Brooklyn to Joseph and Sarah Rogers, and being Steve Rogers, Captain America, but now, he also remembers being Steve Rogers, born in _2000_ in Brooklyn to Sarah Rogers and a one-night stand before moving to San Francisco, and being Steve Rogers, step-son to Winnie Barnes and step-brother to James “Bucky” Barnes.

He remembers he’s Steve Rogers, quarterback and captain of the football team, and Steve Rogers, president of student government. 

He remembers the others too; how in this world, Natasha is simply just a member of the pom team who has aspirations to get into Julliard; how Bruce is just their valedictorian and wants to work at CERN when he graduates from grad school; how Clint is dubbed “class clown” and competes competitively in archery; how Thor is nothing but mortal but is friends with everyone because he’s loud and friendly and throws the wildest parties; how Sam is a receiver because he never fumbles and is being scouted for the NFL; how Bucky is just Steve’s step-brother and running-back because he always has his six. 

Here, they don’t know who they were, but Steve does, and he guesses Natasha does too. Here, they didn’t bond over spilled blood and nightmares of wars and torture, but rather over spilled sodas and coffees and ambitious dreams of success and fame. They’re all different, but yet the same, and it’s like Steve’s never lost them at all.

When Steve looks at himself clearly under the mirror’s light in the bathroom, he notices his hair is lighter and his face is devoid of the stresses his last life threw on him. 

He’s been given a fresh start, so he walks downstairs, kisses both his moms on the cheek while grabbing a piece of toast before he’s ushered, quite roughly, out the door and into Bucky’s truck. 

Bucky is the same age as Steve here, and Steve can’t help but to still see _his_ Bucky from then, but their banter in the car is instinctual and comes easy to him because of his new set of memories. 

He gets to school and meets the others and it’s _weird_ to argue over silly things like why their calculus teacher is absent so much or why the cafeteria started selling strawberry milk instead of debating over fighting tactics and arranging sparring lessons. Natasha catches his eye above Sam’s head and she smirks, all too-knowing. 

And so, Steve settles into his new life.

There’s study dates and Friday Night Lights, and homework _(so much homework);_ there’s Snapchat stories and Instagram posts, and sharing Spotify playlists, but there’s still something missing.

He ponders over it as he’s walking from Physics to Lunch on a sunny September Wednesday, and bumps _into_ it with a muffled “oomph” and a squeal.

Steve looks down worriedly at the disgruntled figure now lying on the floor, their backpack fallen right next to them.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” Steve says, reaching a hand down to pull them up.

“No, no, it’s fine. I guess I should be paying more attention to large walls of pecs instead of the directions to this bigass school — ”

Under a mess of dark chestnut curls, brown eyes _(so so familiar)_ meet his and everything in Steve pauses. 

“Uhhhh,” Steve simply says before clearing his throat, eyes catching the familiar pink slip of paper on the floor. “You’re new?”

The smaller boy (seriously, he’s only up to Steve’s shoulders) scoffs, bending down to sling his backpack over his shoulder and snatch the piece of paper. “Obvious that I don’t know where I’m going?” The smile he gives Steve is shy and a bit wary, and it does nothing to quell the flicker of hope resting in his chest.

“A bit,” Steve replies back teasingly, “Where you headed to next?”

The brunet looks down at the schedule in his hand. “Um, I have lunch. Huh, well, guess I’ll be doing that someplace else.”

Steve frowns. He looks over his own shoulder to where the others are already sitting and chatting and looks back at the familiar face in front of him.

“You can sit with my friends and I,” Steve says, “and I can help you settle in, help with directions and survival tips and all that.”

Steve gets a scrutinizing look in return, but the brunet is gnawing on his bottom lip and wringing his fingers in anxiety. 

“I don’t even know you.”

Steve grins, feels himself brighten when he sticks his hand out. 

“Steve Rogers.”

Another wary gaze and a deep breath, before a smaller hand fits in his and everything in him rushes in elation.

_Do you trust me?_

_I do._

“Tony Stark.”

—

Falling in love with Tony Stark is as easy as Clint’s archery— effortless and comfortable.

They’re best friends, so they do everything together, but their friendship is different than the ones each of them have with anyone else in the group because Steve is _in love_ with Tony.

Tony, who Steve no longer knows as Iron Man, but rather the boy who was born in Seattle to a single mother and grew up loved and cherished by his family; the boy who never carried a magnet in his chest but rather of scars from a heart surgery from when he was a baby. _This_ Tony still held the brilliance and energy _his_ Tony had, but they were separate people with different flaws, but it didn’t matter because Steve has always loved Tony, no matter which life.

This was a Tony who was two years younger but in the same grade because he was just _that_ smart. This was a Tony who always manages to convince Steve to go to Waffle House with him at 2 a.m. on a school night because he always manages to finish his side projects after midnight. This was a Tony that Steve realized he was in love with after the Homecoming game because they had won and Rhodey and Natasha managed to corral Tony into wearing _his_ jersey and when everyone came down from the stands to celebrate with the players on the field, Tony had come up to him and said, “I’m your good luck charm, Rogers, no take-backsies” and Steve hadn’t disagreed because that was the moment he had fully given his heart and soul to Tony fucking Stark.

Different, and yet the same.

This was also a Tony who was now running down an empty hallway at top speeds towards Steve as he packed up his bag before leaving campus for winter break. 

“Tony, wha—” he starts, closing his locker, before Tony grabs his hand and continues running.

“RUN!”

Steve hears the thundering footsteps following them, and the familiar voice of Rumlow screaming after Tony, but he registers nothing besides the cold air whipping at his face as he runs out the door and the warmth of Tony’s clammy hand in his. 

“Under here!” Tony yells, taking a sharp turn and pulling Steve close under the bleachers to press against his body while they hold their breath, waiting for the footsteps to pass them.

Once they’re gone, Steve takes a step back and laughs, gasping for breath along with Tony.

“What was that for?” He says, laughing.

Tony has his hands pressed against his knees as he gulps in cold air and into his lungs. “Re- remember when he was talking— talking shit about your— your moms?”

“Yeah?”

Tony straightens up and twinkling almond eyes meet azure and Steve falls further. “I put a stink bomb in his locker as revenge.”

In response, Steve throws his head back and laughs, hand coming up to clutch at his breast as his own mind conjures up exactly what happened. Tony’s pressed against his body once again as they both lose it together, stomachs clenching in pain at the lack of oxygen.

“Holy shit! That’s cruel!” Steve manages to say through his wheezing.

“Hey,” Tony replies, pointing at Steve teasingly, “No one talks shit ‘bout my two favorite moms.”

Steve calms down, wiping at his eyes as he looks down at Tony, grinning toothily. Tony turns shy, cheeks flushing red, but Steve can’t tell if he’s actually blushing or if it was the cold weather around them.

“And plus, I did it for you,” Tony says, nearly inaudible.

Steve’s smile softens, chest aching with so much adoration it’s nearly _suffocating_ him. Different universes, same heart.

“Was I worth it, Tony?” He asks, and the words bring a dull ache and suddenly he’s breathing in ash and smoke, blinking away the images of a teary, bloodied face to make way for the younger, more joyful one in front of him, filling in the spaces where his last life ended.

Tony looks up at him and bites at his lip, and Steve takes in the silence for the tension that it is before Tony is pressing up on his tiptoes with his hands on Steve’s shoulders to slot his lips against his.

Soft and gentle and chapped from the winter atmosphere, Steve chases those lips in desperation, in thirst, holding onto the warm body like a lifeline and he is but a man lost at sea. It’s perfect and sweet and in a way that Steve hasn’t felt in a long time, it feels like coming _home_. 

Tony parts first, but he doesn’t stray far, hot breath still hitting against Steve’s as he gazes into his eyes, brown to blue, blue to brown, like they were meant to. Light hands caress Steve’s cheek as it goes from his hair to his jaw and he turns his head to press a loving kiss against that warm palm, closing his eyes as he simply takes in the body against him, thanking the universe for giving him this second chance, this second life.

_There you are_ , his heart cries, _it’s you._

“Yes, of course. Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta-d so all mistakes are mine but in a bit of clarification, the whole '2nd life' thing being a high school au was inspired by that theory that basically said that avac (rip) was just a post-endgame mcu au bc thats why avac tony always has his gauntlet on BUT since this is NOT that, i took a few liberties at changing a few things and making a COMPLETELY new AU of post-endgame things, like steve using the infinity gauntlet instead of tony and thus dying and his and nat's afterlife are just this high school au (hence the afterlife tag). 
> 
> also i put new steve born in 2000 bc im more familiar with the early 2000s kids in high school bc theyre graduating now and it makes more sense and high school culture now is both sad and hilarious so i wanted to incorporate that aura(tm) 
> 
> anyways yup thats it, bye hope you liked that!


End file.
